Need to find a job. We're running out of staples.

I have to get a job. I’ve been talking about getting a job for months, but I never really meant it. A little voice kept calling out, “Gabriella will get a job soon, and you can carry on as if this last year was a bad dream, and all will be right in the world!” That voice has gone a little hoarse. Now it sounds more like, “Gabri [COUGH] will get a [COUGH] [COUGH] soon. All will be ...” “What’s that you say, little voice? I can’t quite understand you through your hacking cough. Can you say it again so I can justify burying my head in the sand while Gabriella scratches and claws for a job?”

“I said... all will be right in the [HACK] OH, WHO ARE WE KIDDING?!? GET OFF YOUR ASS AND GET A JOB YOU LAZY WHORE!”

“Um, I think you have the wrong number.”

Yeah, so I need to get a job. Ok, one last tantrum.

I DON’T WANNA GET A JOB!! I wanna wear jeans ... the same pair until they start to walk on their own. I wanna set my own schedule and stay inside on a cold day if I feel like it. I wanna have a bad day without apologising to anyone. I wanna hide the muffin top behind sweatshirts instead of suit jackets. I wanna talk to myself-out loud. I wanna sleep soundly not having to worry about whether my nanny is going to quit or ignore my children or teach them about Jesus. I wanna spend the few hours both kids are in school working on my craft (read writing blogs to a Pandora music selection of my own design). I wanna whine about how undervalued stay-at-home mothers are.

I’m finished now, and I'm ready to hit the pavement. I had to try on some old suits I wore before I had children. I’ll do THAT again when I feel like I’m on top of the world and I need to take myself down a few notches. Need to go shopping. Thankfully, I found a little something that I could actually fasten as long as I didn’t eat or breathe to wear to my first interview last week. What a surreal experience to be suited and booted and gasping for air.

And when the interviewer referred to my husband, I said nothing. INSERT SOUND OF NEEDLE SCRATCHING VINYL . What’s up with that?!? Do you know how long it has been since I’ve had to come out? No? Me neither! Then again, I don’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday. But I’m fairly certain that I have not had to come out for a very, very long time. I live in Gay-ville, U.S.A. for fuck sake. I have surrounded myself with gays and gay-friendlies. I live in a bubble, and I like it thank you very much.

When I plugged in the destination of my interview into my GPS, the Navigation Oracle told me I had to drive for 22 minutes. She neglected to tell me to bring an oxygen tank and to grow a pair. The night before the interview, I studied my resume. I researched the company, jotted down speaking points, thought of smarty pants questions to ask. I did not prepare for the Pronoun Game. Have you never played? Oh, do give it a go. The next time you meet someone for the first time, speak openly and freely about your family without giving away your partner’s gender. My, ‘tis fun to do.

“Do you really think that it’s the right place for you, Deborah?” asked a friend after I told her about my closeted interview. “Well no. The right place for me is at home in Gay-ville where I don’t have to think twice about what I say to whom.” Truth is I don’t think the interviewer would have skipped a beat. But I need a job, and I wasn’t feeling confident enough on my first interview in 8 years to get all out, loud and proud. I didn’t refer to my lesbian lover, and I didn’t mention that there is no God or that Chris Christie is a hate-mongering moron. What were Mr. and Mrs. Christie thinking when they named their son Chris? I didn’t ask the interviewer that question, either. Then again, nobody asked me about God or Christie.

If I had to do it over again, I don’t know if I would have said something like, “Husband? Good heavens, I don’t have a husband. I have a wife in Canada and a Civil Unionite in New Jersey.” I think I’ll just have to play it by ear and trust my instincts.

There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.



Did it work? Am I back in my bubble?

“Yes, but you still have to get a job.”

Shut up little voice.